


Wedding Knells

by sweetdreamsofgelato (Dolceamara)



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Explicit Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, mentions of drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25784188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolceamara/pseuds/sweetdreamsofgelato
Summary: You and Henry have spent a lifetime in a reluctant game of cat and mouse, and it all finally comes to a head when you attend the same wedding.
Relationships: Henry Cavill/Reader, Henry Cavill/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A reposting of my work from Tumblr. You can find me there by the same name (sweetdreamsofgelato).
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> Disclaimer: Complete work of fiction from the recesses of my own imagination. No infringement intended.

Henry watched you glide across the dance floor. A seemingly innocuous undertaking to any of the surrounding wedding guests. To anyone else, he appeared exactly as everyone would expect him. Cool and confident with a mildly devilish air—which was _precisely_ as intended. He eased back against his chair, nursing his fourth drink and silently thanking the universe for his remarkable, if undeserved, gift for pretence.

It wasn't a complete surprise that you were here, and he wasn't particularly disappointed by your presence. It was quite the opposite, if he were completely truthful. Nevertheless, he stubbornly made every effort to avoid you over the entire weekend. Most of the families in attendance had known each other for years. Years of birthdays, dinner parties, and shared holidays. Trips to the coast when the weather was warm and inviting. Nights filled with obligatory adolescent mischief. There were few memories upon which he looked back fondly that didn't include you.

And then one day, like a fog lifting in the midmorning sun, you were gone. Off to live your life.

Without him.

Not that he had had any claim over you. The two of you spent the majority of your formative years dancing around your feelings for each other. Feelings that weren't a closely guarded secret but were also never expressed aloud. Most of your mutual friends remarked, with maddening regularity, that you two were obviously something. Best friends and confidantes, and yet collectively far, far more than just that. Henry had never acted upon them—out of both lack of self-confidence and a healthy fear of the enormity of what you two could be.

Inevitably, life took you both down your own paths, which seemed to cross too much and not enough at the same time. With every year, Henry felt the chasm between you grow wider. So much time had now passed that it was practically immoral to ask for the opportunity to be something more to you. It wasn't fair and it certainly wasn't realistic to believe that you still carried a torch for him, even if that was exactly what he'd done for you.

The distance at which you held each other was as necessary as it was tragic.

He caught your gaze over your dance partner's shoulder and suffered a brief but achingly familiar sense of self-loathing. It was a fleeting, wordless moment that spoke volumes.

"Hey you," your voice, still breathless from exertion, startled him back to the present. Your cheeks were coloured high with excitement and likely too much champagne, and you smiled as if on the edge of laughter.

Henry stiffened, having been so adrift in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed your approach.

"Hey you." His response was affectionate, if restrained.

"Shall we take a walk?" you asked, your head motioning toward the lawn that stretched between the romantically canopied reception and the stately manor that housed the wedding guests for the duration of the festivities.

The music slowly died away, along with the straggling vestiges of his good sense. He tossed back the remainder of his drink and rose, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the chair.

"Your date won't miss you?" He nodded toward the annoyingly handsome but unfamiliar man currently winding through the revelry and toward the bartender.

"Not my date. Just a passing dance partner," you replied simply.

Henry didn't require any further encouragement. He fell into step with you, proceeding down the stone path that led across the lawn and through the manor gardens.

"It's good to see you." You broke the silence, as was your habit. A product of both personality and necessity. "It's been too long."

And it truly had been. The last time your paths crossed was last Christmas, yet it felt like a lifetime ago. At the time, Henry had been sorely tempted to ask you to go with him on holiday, but he'd known that particular ask would've been neither simple nor meaningless. That request would've come with unspoken expectations that he really hadn't been in position to deal with, and it wouldn't have been fair to either of you. He resigned himself to the all too infrequent comments on social media, casual conversations via texts, and the painfully rare phone calls to which he'd grown begrudgingly accustomed.

"Likewise," he nodded, sliding his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. The cool evening air was refreshing rather than biting, so the extra layer was unnecessary, but as a sudden icy chill of foreboding crept over him, the jacket felt more like much-needed armour.

"How have you been?" you asked, restlessly tapping the corner of your clutch against your palm.

Good. Great. Fantastic. Busy. Lonely. Miserable. Hopelessly tortured.

"Fine." He really needed to stop going to weddings. They dredged up all sorts of emotions that were better left buried, and the edges of his self-restraint were already frayed. In hindsight, it would have been smarter to decline your invitation for a walk, but you had caught him in an egregiously weak moment during which he couldn't bear the thought of refusing you.

A dissatisfied expression flickered across your face before you soldiered on with questions ranging from casual niceties to more invasive enquiries into his current state of existence. Henry attempted to keep his answers as short as possible, often turning your questions back to you rather than asking after anything meaningful. If not properly controlled, he would say or ask too much and regret it later. You always had that effect on him, and it was a source of endless frustration.

It wasn't long before you found yourselves in front of the grand staircase leading to the upper floors of the guest rooms.

"I'm going upstairs. Will I see you tomorrow before you leave?" you asked, “I’d like to say goodbye.”

He grimaced. Goodbye. How many times had he said goodbye and prayed that it would or wouldn't be the last? He loathed that word; that one ruthless word that never failed to strike him square in the chest and force the air from his lungs. A cannonball tearing through the broadside of his heart, leaving him splintered and wrecked in its wake.

He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the interminable state of emotional turmoil, but Henry was barely maintaining his carefully cultivated self-control. A degree of forbearance that was a particular point of pride and singularly resolute.

Until it wasn't.

He was, if nothing else, a perpetually self-possessed man.

Until he wasn't.

"I'll walk you up."

You stopped; your hand gripped the smooth wooden bannister as you watched him with unveiled apprehension. A look undeniably rooted in the knowledge that to follow you upstairs would put you both at great risk of crossing a line drawn too many years ago.

Seems he wasn't the only one affected by weddings.

Henry rested a hand on your lower back, the silky brush of your evening gown sending sparks tingling across his fingers, prickly over his arms, and shocked him straight in the heart. Sparks that kindled a fire he never should've permitted to be lit. He nudged you upstairs with a gentle reverence that directly contradicted every single raw emotion coursing through him. The staircase stretched endlessly before him, and as he ascended, he wryly wondered if this is what it felt like to be marched up the gallows.

He followed you through a labyrinth of dimly lit corridors, the click of your heels echoing in the deserted halls. The evening was young, and everyone was undoubtedly still enjoying the celebrations outside.

You stopped in front of the door to your room and extracted the key from your bag, hesitating briefly before sliding it into lock. The click of the latch giving way sounded like a gunshot. In that moment, Henry would've sworn the air shook from it. That he shook from it. Immediately, he withdrew his hand from your back and hastily pressed himself against the opposite wall.

You turned and blew out a shaky breath, your weighty stare boring into him from across the corridor.

A few more beats of silence passed before you spoke. "Thanks for seeing me up. I'll be sure to find you in the morning to say goodbye."

There was that word again. The distance between you once again felt insurmountable.

You were halfway into your room before Henry's hand shot out and closed around your wrist.

"Wait—" There was a desperation in his voice he could no longer hold back.

You turned slightly, but your gaze didn't rise to meet his.

"Just, wait."

You'd both spent a lifetime waiting, and it felt outrageously selfish to ask for even a moment more, but he did anyway. Panic bubbled within him as he scrambled to find the right words.

Any words.

"I—" Henry didn't even know where to begin. His hands wearily scrubbed his face then raked through his hair, giving it a frustrated tug before his arms fell to his sides in despair. His nostrils flared, and he released a long, exasperated breath as he fought internally between what he wanted to say and what he ought to say. Whatever truths laid bare tonight could never be taken back. Henry was officially sounding the death knell of your past.

Your eyes finally met his, and they simmered with restrained fury. He was visibly taken aback. "Wait, you're angry? Why on earth are you angry?"

“Why am I—are you kidding me?!" You turned and flung your clutch through the open door and into the darkness of your room.

Henry was wholly grateful you hadn't thrown it at him, though it would be no less than he deserved.

"All I've ever done is wait, Henry!" your fingertips pressed into your temples. "I've waited and waited and for what?" you gestured wildly, "This tortuous game of emotional tug of war that we keep playing is unbearable and it has gone on far too long."

Your voice shook, overwrought with rage and indignation. "Every time we meet. Every superficial conversation, every heated stare and surreptitious touch, every painful goodbye," you let out an anguished sob when you turned, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction, "every time you slid into a casual conversation with me when I started a new relationship, just to remind me of your ever-looming presence, and every time I did the same to you."

Your outrage retracted with guilt at the admission, but you quickly rebounded. "I love you so much that my entire soul aches from it. Constantly. So yes, I'm angry! I am furious! The ceaseless, agonizing reminders of everything I want but can never have are driving me mad!"

You were pacing now, unable to remain still, and all Henry could do was watch silently, because deep down he knew that every ounce of anger thrown at him was justly earned. An honourable man would have ended this long ago, but he was selfish in his need to keep you, even if it was at arm's length. Sure, you could have said something and taken that first step, but Henry would have immediately shut down, because that is what he did every single time you previously tried. He would have run and not looked back, because his love for you was permanently bound to shamefully paralyzing insecurity. It turned him into the worst sort of coward.

Cowardice or no, this was happening, and the sheer magnitude of the reckoning finally washed over him.

"What do you want from me?" It was a knee-jerk response made somewhat out of anger and fear, but mostly born of the desperate need for someone to tell him the right thing to do, because he wasn't sure what that was anymore.

"For once is your life, I want you to say something!" you shot back.

"Fine!" Henry bellowed as he threw his hands up in defeat. He turned to you, forcing your attention entirely to him. He was only going to say it once, because the thought of having to repeat it left him thoroughly awash with guilt for having waited to do so in the first place.

"Every time I'm with you, I never want to leave. I want every conversation to be never ending." His whole body shook with frightening urgency. The carefully built but steadily cracking walls that dammed up every last ounce of feeling for you finally broke, and there was no holding back the flood of truth. His voice was ragged with it.

"With every touch, I want thousands more, and I never, ever want to say goodbye again."

Because he truly, deeply didn't. He realised, startlingly, that he would give up everything. He would gladly surrender every single hard-won privilege in his life if it meant he never had to say goodbye again. He would happily live and die in abject obscurity as long as you were by his side. Henry reached for you, frantically needing something to anchor him against the onslaught of an entire lifetime of repressed emotion.

"I love you so much that it absolutely terrifies me, and if I have to go one more day without being able to call you mine, it will destroy me." He gripped your elbows as he attempted to catch his breath, completely stunned and thoroughly exhausted.

"Was that acceptable?" Henry whispered, searching your face for some indication of affirmation. Eagerly terrified for any hint of response.

"No!"

Henry reeled, his grip tightening as he mustered the remainder of his strength to stamp down the desire to shake you. It was official; he'd reached the end of his rope.

"What do you mean, no?!"

"I've changed my mind!"

Henry sputtered incoherently.

You grasped the front of his suit jacket and yanked him toward you. The look on your face so undeniably needy that it bordered on feral, and left absolutely no possibility for misinterpretation. 

"I want you to _do_ something about it."


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment, Henry’s pale eyes never left yours. It was clear what you were asking for, and he would a barefaced liar if he said he didn’t want the same. The sight of you alone set his blood ablaze with the urge to wrap you around him and take you right here in the hall. Fiercely and without restraint, with no regard for public decency or the sensibilities of the other guests.

But you deserved far more and far better than that, and astonishingly enough, he finally admitted that he did as well.

Henry spent far too long convincing himself (rather unsuccessfully) that the love between you was just a blip on the radar or that the opportunity for something more had long since slipped away. The feelings that frequently and maddeningly seeped back into his consciousness – taking root in his dreams and burrowing insidiously in his heart – were nothing more than nostalgia for a reality that never was and never could be.

Anything to rationalise his complete and utter idiocy.

If you were now to start anew, it ought not be from a place of anger or a product of long-bottled resentment. For all you put each other through, all of the emotions that filled the silence and stretched across the years, you had never even shared a proper kiss – neither of you dared. All the same, it would be a crime if your first kiss were born of an argument.

You stood in front of him, eyes full of expectation, and he was overwhelmed by the urge to beg for your forgiveness, as well as your permission to forgive himself.

“Henry?” you asked, with no small measure of surprise. Obviously, this was not the reaction you were expecting after your rather heated row, and especially following your brazen proposition.

He didn’t want an audience, and he was fairly certain you would agree. That moment, and all to come after, belonged to only the two of you. Henry’s arms slipped around your back as he crowded into you, hastily ushering you through the open doorway. He deposited you inside before he quickly strode back to the entryway, taking cursory glances down each side of the corridor, before closing the door so gently that the sound of the latch barely registered.

“Is everything alright?” Your voice wavered in the darkness, clearly unsettled by the shift in the atmosphere.

It only took two long strides, dual footfalls echoing in the pitch blackness, and he was on top of you. You let out a cry of surprise and stumbled back from the force, but Henry snatched you back against him. One arm tightened around your waist, whilst his free hand slid tenderly up the column of your neck to cup your face. He pressed his cheek against yours, holding you tight against him.

“I’m so sorry, for everything.” He wished he could lay out every single sin he committed in the name of cowardice and insecurity, but the list would be infernally long.

“Don’t be,” you whispered, “we never made any promises to each other.”

“We should have. I should have,” he corrected, “I wasted so much time and let my own fear hold me back, but that’s not what I most regret.”

Henry leaned back and gently pressed his thumb to the underside of your chin, tilting your head back. The anger and frustration that blazed in your eyes had melted into curiosity at the quiet intensity of his tone.

“I let my fears and insecurities hurt you, and it’s inexcusable.”

You heaved a weighty, slightly impatient sigh, and your expression twisted with discomfort. Guilt, even. “I appreciate the sentiment, Henry, but we both made mistakes. You don’t owe me any apologies.”

“You deserve them,” he insisted. “I–”

“For the love of God, Henry, will you just kiss me already!”

His shoulders slumped slightly, “Can’t a man make a grand romantic overture without being interrupted?”

“Certainly,” you replied lightly, “ _after_ you kiss me.”

That seemed perfectly reasonable, though entirely unlikely, given that what followed left him completely dumbfounded.

The world fell away as he lowered his head and brushed his lips across yours. An eerie calm settled around him and the air hung motionless as he moved into you. With his dying breath, Henry would swear that the universe stood still when his lips met yours.

His cradled your face with his hands, his thumbs gliding along your jaw. Your soft moan disappeared into him as he shifted to take more of your mouth with his. It was the melding of two souls; the type of kiss that inspired epic love stories, though in his humbled and completely biased opinion, none of the greats could ever compare.

There was a crackling in the air, or maybe it was just in his mind, and his heart lurched in his chest. It was a kiss that was a lifetime in the making and carried with it the staggering force of two destinies colliding. It stole his breath away.

Henry pulled back and gasped. His entire body was alight with electric energy; it sizzled across his nerves like flame on a fuse, making him feel as if he might burst from his skin. His eyes flew to yours and met your similarly stunned gaze.

The rapid, staccato rhythm of your mingled breathing cut through the silence, and he watched your fingers slowly lift to your lips, trembling across your mouth as if to soothe away a burn.

“That was…” Henry croaked, trying his best to find a way to explain the inexplicable.

“…some kiss.” Your voice was low and thoroughly dazed; your mouth continued to move wordlessly as you tried to gather your thoughts.

Henry would strongly argue that it was far more than just a kiss. Many words passed through his mind, but none seemed to do it justice. Yet one broke through, hanging insistently at the forefront of his mind.

_More._

With sudden and decisive conviction, Henry realised he didn’t truly care what it was, just so long as he could have more of it. All of it. All of you.

And just like that, Henry’s world tilted again and pitched him headlong into you. If the first kiss was a melding of souls, this one was a merging of bodies. He crushed you against his chest and his hands moulded every curve of you against his body. There was no space to move; no space to breath. Only his mouth bruised into yours, and his hands fisted in your hair, ruthlessly drinking in every groan and whimper he could coax from you.

You moaned shamelessly when Henry jerked your head back, nipping along your jaw and down your neck, his lips burning across any bare skin he could find, which was – quite tragically – in short supply.

As was his patience.

He tried pushing your dress down, but it wouldn’t move past your shoulders. He tried pulling it upward and over your head, but the shape didn’t allow for him to get it past your ribcage.

Henry’s voice was pained and ragged when he spoke. “How do you get this damned thing off?”

But before you had the chance to respond, he growled and yanked, which was followed by the unmistakeable sound of rending fabric.

“Henry!”

Without a single ounce of remorse, he tugged again, tearing it just enough so it began to slip down your hips. His eyebrow rose as he shot you a flagrantly unapologetic look. “It had to be done, and I refuse to apologise.”

Henry continued down your body, hastily shoving the wasted garment down your legs as he went.

“Sweet, merciful Christ.” He sat back on his heels, drawing in a deep, reverential sigh as he savoured the sight in front of him. As eager as he was to get you hot and willing beneath him, lingerie like that necessitated a certain degree of respect and admiration.

“He’s not going to save you now,” you muttered, somewhat bitterly. You crossed your arms over your chest, the motion lifting your breasts in such a tantalising way that he whimpered.

He _whimpered_. Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, honourable Man of Steel, actually whimpered. He sought comfort in the fact that no man alive would ever hold it against him if they knew what he was currently enduring.

Once he regained enough of his senses to form a complete thought, his lips immediately flattened into a thin line. “I’d ask you who you had in mind when you chose to wear this, but I don’t think I want to know the answer.”

While Henry liked to think he possessed some measure of self-confidence, he wasn’t egotistical enough to suggest that it you had worn it for him, because he was fairly certain neither of you expected to be in this position tonight. Nevertheless, the mere thought of you envisioning anyone else turned Henry positively murderous.

“Believe it or not, Henry, not all decisions I make are done exclusively for the benefit of others.” Your chin rose proudly, “I wore it for myself, because it made me feel beautiful.”

Beautiful was so inadequate a descriptor that it was downright offensive.

“You are _stunning_ ,” he said, rather more fiercely than he initially intended.

He watched, with a great degree of satisfaction, as a delectable heat erupt across your skin, before adding, “If I had known that this was under your dress, I would have ripped the thing off from the start.”

“I loved that dress,” you sighed heavily, gazing mournfully down at the ruined pile of fabric pooled around your feet.

“I will buy you a new one,” he replied offhandedly, mildly annoyed to still be having this conversation when there were far more entertaining things to be doing. Like removing every last stitch from your body.

Except for the stockings; those could stay.

The bustier could stay too.

With as few articles he was now considering removing, Henry was certain this would be the quickest disrobing in the history of debauchery, and – as the visceral aching he suffered was reaching excruciating heights – he was extremely grateful for the small mercy.

“I loved _that_ one,” you shot back peevishly, pointing toward the floor as you planted a hand on your hip, but your lips curved with an irrepressible hint of a smile.

One of the benefits of having known each other so long was that Henry was acutely aware when you were being contrary, just to exasperate him. He silently refused to take your bait, determining that it was far better to disarm than engage.

His large hands slid up the back of your calves, his fingers tickling the delicate spots behind your knees before they continued upwards, where he firmly grasped the swell of your bottom.

You wobbled on your feet and a needy whine caught at the back of your throat.

“I like that sound,” he remarked playfully. Henry rose to his knees and nuzzled the small patch bare skin at your hip, trailing his lips across until he reached the top of your mound. His eyes lifted to yours when his mouth pushed forcefully against the lace covering, sucking at you through the flimsy barrier.

Your knees buckled, but Henry’s firm grasp saved you from crumpling. Your hands flew to his hair, clutching tightly as you groaned.

He let out a guttural growl of his own, “I like that one even more.”

When he was sure you weren’t going to carry on about your dress, Henry reluctantly pulled away. While he wasn’t opposed to taking you right here, he had plans. Plans that ideally involved the soft, downy bed across the room. With his goal in mind, his hands wandered up your body, dipping into the curves of your waist and over the swell of your breasts, as he stood.

As soon as he rose to full height, you gripped his shirt and pulled him down into a scorching kiss, which he met with equal enthusiasm.

Then, without preamble, you wrenched his shirt apart.

Henry reared back, gaping in surprise. After a quick inspection, he determined that it wasn’t torn, but it was bereft of quite a few buttons. Still, it was his favourite and best-fitting shirt, and it had been grievously mistreated. He shot you an irritated look.

You wore a mask of exaggerated innocence. “It had to be done, and I refuse to apologise.”

He thought of responding, but your gaze raked over him in an obvious display of appreciation, and Henry couldn’t help but feel awash with pride. He was no stranger to compliments on his appearance, but coming from you, it was certainly more meaningful.

You leaned into him, and your fingers fanned across the springy hairs on his chest. A sly smile toyed at the corners of your mouth, and you looked thoroughly pleased with yourself, which – he admitted – was a very good look.

Henry paused, making a great show of being lost in thought, then he hoisted you in his arms, and you let out the most delightful squeal when he tossed you on the bed.

As soon as your back hit the plush duvet, he knelt before you. He hurriedly shrugged out of his suit jacket, tore off his abused shirt, and quickly flicked off your heels, letting them all fall to the floor. When the remainder of his clothing was discarded and forgotten, his hands slid from your toes and up over your knees, eyeing the stockinged lengths of your legs with keen interest.

You scrambled onto your elbows. “Don’t you dare rip them,” you warned with an emphatic point of your finger.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” There was a deceptively innocuous lilt to his voice. He kissed along the lacy elastic edge across your thighs and hummed with a very masculine sense of approval. “These are most definitely staying on.”

His head bent low, and he glanced up at you through his eyelashes as he laved at the sensitive skin above the joint of your hip.

“These aren’t, though.”

Another rip rent through the air.

“ _Henry!_ ”

“I promise to replace them,” he added hastily as he flung away the scrap of lace. And he would, because he was a man of principle and always kept his promises.

“ _It was a matching set!_ ”

“Then I will buy as many sets as you want.” While he was a man of principle, he was also just a man – one who was self-aware enough to admit that he would probably destroy those too. Not that he felt obliged to say so, at the moment.

“This is quickly becoming an expensive habit,” you grumbled.

“Fortunately for both of us, I’m a rich man.” He flashed a cheeky grin. Henry wasn’t in the custom of doing so, but if there was ever a moment to brag about his wealth, this was certainly it.

You rolled your eyes.

He laughed; it was the kind of laughter that started as a light chuckle, but it spread quickly through his veins, warm and captivating, until his entire body was consumed with it.

And then you laughed, and he was overcome with the most indescribable feeling.

Henry struggled to put into words exactly how you made him feel. There was definitely a world-shattering intensity – a level of mind-blowing passion he’d never experienced before, which was as frightening as it was humbling. Yet at the same time, there was a certain level of comfort. A soothing ease of mind and a playfulness between you that he had sorely missed; even just in friendship, you always made him laugh like no one else could, and for the first time in a very long time, his heart felt full and his soul, light.

It was its own kind of magic.

He rested his cheek on your stomach when he finally managed to regain his composure.

“Hey,” he said softly, smiling up at you, watching you wipe the tears of laughter from your eyes.

“Hey,” you replied, in kind.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Henry. I always have.”

Then, your eyes rolled again, for a different reason altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ https://sweetdreamsofgelato.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

When Henry’s mouth found your core, his deep groan echoed yours. His broad shoulders splayed your legs wide, and his hands dug into the inside of your thighs, opening you to him even more as he pressed you further into the bed.

Your scent was so rich and seductive that fogged his mind. The taste of you was hot and sweet in his mouth, and he savoured every bit, finding every secret fold and crevice until you were straining against him. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging harshly at the soft brown curls, and the delicious burn across his scalp sent desire rocketing down his spine.

Henry pulled away ever so slightly and blew gently across your delicate flesh, thoroughly enjoying when you hissed and shivered against him.

The night had been a revelation: completely unexpected, somewhat exasperating (in the best way), and utterly magical all at the same time. To be honest, part of him was still in disbelief. It felt like a dream. Something with which he was intimately familiar. For so long, his feverish dreams and illicit fantasies were his only release, but now, as his lips spread in a devilish smile at the thought, he could share them with you.

“Do you know,” he mused, his voice dark and rough, “how many times I fantasised about this?”

He heard your supplicating whine, but your head was thrown back, blocking his view of your face. However, he could envision the erotic image of you so clearly, as he had for so many years.

“Countless private moments, completely alone with my lust, and all I wanted was you.” He prowled up your body and settled his full weight onto you, letting you feel the hard line of him throb against your belly.

“I dreamt of you,” he murmured, “so vividly that I would wake excruciatingly hard and begging for relief.” He thrust against your stomach and you gasped.

Henry breathed into the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of you. He turned, ever so slightly, and his mouth brushed against your cheek. “The image of you haunted me.” His lips found yours and he kissed you slowly and thoroughly before continuing.

“Your mouth was always dark and plump, parted as you gasped for air.” His teeth nipped sharply at your bottom lip, and he smiled inwardly at your sharp intake of breath, before he soothed the tender spot with the pad of his thumb.

Your breath shuddered in your chest.

Henry’s fingertips brushed with feather-soft strokes against your cheeks. “Passion always etched across your face.”

He gripped your chin firmly in the cradle of his hand, turning your eyes to him, and as if on silent command, they fluttered open to meet his. “Your gaze, burning.” And it was.

“Your skin was soft and warm under my tongue.” His grip on your jaw tightened, forcing your head back as his mouth dragged a wicked line down the delicate arch of your throat and across your chest. His tongue flicked between the swells of your breasts, and a ragged groan clawed from his throat. “Each taste, a little bit of heaven.”

He could hear your breath coming in hurried pants.

Henry lifted himself just enough so that his hand could slip between you, and then leaned in so that his hot breath skated over your ear. He felt that you were close, but he wanted to tease you, just a little more.

“Your entire body…” He paused, just because he could.

You frantically strained against his weight. “Please, Henry,” you whimpered. The raw desperation in your voice was fire in his veins.

“…begging for me.” He whispered, finally pushing two fingers into the hot, wet centre of you, and you arched against him, the impressive force of it lifting you both.

Henry felt you immediately clench, and he thought he might lose himself right then. When you grasped him in your hand and moaned so shamelessly, he very nearly did.

“ _Christ_ ,” he gasped, and his head kicked back, his muscles straining to rein himself back in.

“Still not going to save you,” you answered lightly.

Your lips turned up playfully, and he was mildly frustrated by the fact that you could still manage to think clearly enough to respond.

Best remedy that.

“Nor you,” he growled. Henry levelled you with a blistering stare as he stretched and curled his fingers inside you, again and again, watching with immense gratification as your eyes rolled back. You let out a string of curses so indecent that it made his skin burn.

You stroked him all the while, frantic with your need, and he realised that he was dangerously near his limit. To not be inside you when he reached it would be a goddamn tragedy. To not be inside you when you reached yours, even more so.

“Fuck,” he shuddered and gasped, feeling his control slipping away with each pull of your hand.

“Roll over,” you shoved at his shoulders, “ _now_.”

He wasn’t about to argue. Henry quickly rolled onto his back, carrying you with him.

Without hesitation, you sank down onto him, and it was far better than he _ever_ dreamt.

His breath came in short huffs as you moved over him. Your head lolled to the side; your back arched; your lips parted in ecstasy. It was mesmerising, and he couldn’t look away. His was transfixed as you took him over and over. His hands settled atop your hips, pressed harshly into the curves of your lace-clad waist, then clawed into the soft flesh of your back. He wanted to see it all, to feel it all. To bear witness to your complete undoing.

It was all becoming too much, and he fought the urge to close his eyes as he tried to keep pace. With each thrust, your breasts bounced in their constrictions, and he silently cursed himself for not getting you completely naked.

He wanted them in his hands.

His eyes fell to the centre seam of your bustier. You did say it was a matching set, which implied that it was already ruined.

“Henry,” you gasped as you leaned into him for support, “I am so close.”

He wanted them in his mouth.

Without another thought, he gripped the seam between his strong fingers and rent it apart.

“ _Henry!_ ”

He braced for a scolding, but then your walls spasmed around him, and you sagged onto his chest as your orgasm raged through you.

Henry growled and roughly flipped you over on your back, his hands quickly finding the beautiful softness he’d so longed to touch. He took your budded nipple in his mouth and he couldn’t hold back the ragged moan that ripped from his chest. This was more than worth whatever tongue-lashing he’d receive later.

The drugging feel of you; the indescribable sounds falling from your lips overtook him. With the full knowledge that he had mere seconds before he shattered, his hands and mouth were everywhere, taking in every glorious bit, as his body powered inexorably into yours, chasing you over the edge.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Bonus:

“I can’t believe you!” you said, shaking the shredded remains of your lingerie and dress in front of his face.

“The stockings survived,” Henry pointed out. _Barely_. “And I am still not sorry.”

“I suppose it was worth it,” you replied with a wistful sigh.

“You _suppose_?”

The cheeky, indulgent smile that ticked at your lips was his new favourite thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ https://sweetdreamsofgelato.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ https://sweetdreamsofgelato.tumblr.com/


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